Page 61 of Interior Design for Demons
The cages hold human bodies, squished into strange contortionist shapes that bulge against the bars—except these people aren’t contortionists. They’re souls in agony, souls trapped in artificial bodies so they can be tortured. They’ve been wedged into these cages in horrific ways.
I stagger back out of the tent, fighting the rise of bile in my throat.
“I tried to warn you,” whispers Hisae, her lower lip trembling.
“We have to help them.” I’m shaking. A cold sweat slicks the back of my neck.
“We can’t.” She shakes her head desperately, rapidly. “We have to keep moving.”
A little further on, a demon tells morbid, erotic jokes to a cluster of fellow demons while sawing someone in half. A human woman with a turnkey in her spine is wound up and sent clattering across a wooden stage in a macabre imitation of a tap-dance. Demons toss flaming knives at naked humans chained to spinning wheels. Another demon spins something pink and fluffy onto sticks—it looks like cotton candy at first, but it’s got a strange texture, and I really don’t want to know what it is.
Hisae and I hurry toward the big-top, as if our salvation waits inside. At least in there we can sit on bleachers or something, without human hair wafting against our legs and trying to snare us in its tendrils.
I try not to look at the gruesome sideshows unfolding around us, but I can’t help glimpsing some of the grisly sights. A magician pulls eyeballs out of thimbles, human bodies lie stacked atop a bloody bed of nails, and a demon shoots fire from every orifice of his body, then lights severed heads on fire and juggles them. There’s an enormous black tent labeled, “Hall of Monsters: Devolved Demonic Wonders” and I think of Apollyon, and how he fears losing himself and becoming one of those mindless terrors.
Where is he? He said he would see me tonight, and I know he can find me whenever he likes. I want to say his name aloud, to see if I sense that tangible tug from him again; but I can’t try it with Hisae beside me, and I’m not about to let her leave my side. I can’t face this place alone. It’s like the worst Halloween horror house ever, because in this scenario, everything is real. It’s not play-acting, and they won’t stop before things go too far. There’s no guarantee of not being hurt, or mentally scarred.
We pass another tent, with a sign that says “Demons Who Will Eat Anything.” There’s a maggoty piece of meat nailed to the board. I choke, and Hisae hustles me along. “Almost there,” she says. She’s shorter and slighter than me, but she’s walking so fast I have to half-jog to keep up with her.
Shrieking, gibbering laughter behind us makes me throw a glance over my shoulder. Three clowns are racing our way—hideous nightmare clowns with torn flesh, ragged outfits, and blood-stained weapons. Hisae and I both scream and run for the entrance to the big-top. A burly demon waves us through, but he stops the clowns at the entrance.
There are seats in the big-top, like I hoped—lots of tiered wooden benches flanking three huge sawdust rings where the acts will take place. I glance underneath the bleachers, but it’s too dark to know if anything is hiding under there, waiting to grab our ankles; so we just go for it, climbing about halfway up and huddling together on a bench. A couple hundred demons are already seated, and I recognize a few human contestants scattered in the crowd as well. And there’s Rath, sitting far away from me, on the other side of the biggest circus ring. He glares at me with his arms folded across his bare muscled chest.
A demon in a fringed corset and beaded arm warmers leans over, her shiny red mouth and sharp yellow teeth inches from Hisae’s face. She reminds me of the creepy thing in Stephen King’sIt.“You got here just in time, little crispies,” she croons. “The show is about to start.”
The yellow-toothed demon cackles as Hisae cringes away from her, against me. A rush of wild music explodes through the room, and geysers of sparkling fire erupt all around the biggest ring. Into that central circle lopes a tall figure in a red-and-black harlequin tailcoat, gleaming boots and a glossy hat, beneath which swirls a river of shining scarlet hair.
A tickling thrill races through my stomach as the demon ringmaster sweeps off his hat and twirls, his shiny boots scraping through the sawdust. He grins, maliciously gleeful, at the audience. There’s a long whip in his right hand, and he cracks it with a snap that makes me thrill again—in a different place this time.
Apollyon is the ringmaster. Of course he is.
“Welcome, welcome, to the greatest show in Hell!” he proclaims, and the demons roar their approval. “Prepare to see feats of the most dire and diabolical nature, oddities pulled from the very Pit itself, spectacular abilities demonstrated before your very eyes! Please stay in your seats if you want to keep your limbs attached—bodily harm is a very real possibility! Those of you in the front rows, bear in mind—you will get hurt!” And his whip uncoils, lashing across a trio of demons in the front row. They shriek, but it’s more like the shrieks of teen girls when their favorite musician leans down to touch their fingers—an impassioned, manic shriek of desire.
Suddenly I realize that I’m clutching Hisae’s arm very tightly. When I glance at her, she meets my gaze. She nods in Apollyon’s direction, a question in her eyes.
No point in denying it any longer. It’s not like it’s a big secret that I’m attracted to him. The secret part is howmuchI’m attracted, how deep the connection goes between us. I give Hisae a slight nod and turn back to the ring as Apollyon finishes his speech to the crowd. Then he flares out his dragon wings, opens his throat, and vomits a stream of blue fire, a column of shimmering, super-heated flame roaring up to the peak of the tent.
Another thunderous cacophony of approval from the demon audience, and then Apollyon dances aside, while the music swells again and the show begins.
It’s like watching a horror movie and a fashion show combined. Beautiful demons and monstrous demons, dazzling costumes and horrific gore, amazing feats and depraved acts. A demoness and a hulking devolved demon actually couple in one of the side rings, right in front of everyone, while demonic acrobats are twirling from the ceiling, contorting and flipping and swinging from ropes and trapezes. Some of it’s funny, some of it’s beautiful, some of it I will never, never be able to unsee. By the end I want to vomit, and I’m terrified because I’ve been splattered with stray drops of blood and narrowly avoided a spray of acid.
The demons around Hisae and me lean toward us, sniffing deeply, their eyes rolling back, sucking in the human fear rolling off us. It’s super creepy, but they don’t do anything beyond pawing at our legs and clothes a little.
When Apollyon dashes back into the center ring to announce the final act, I’m relieved but also terrified because I don’t know where to go after this. I don’t want to stay here, and I don’t want to go back outthere, into that carnival of terror. Maybe I should go to Rath and try to patch things up, try to convince him to take me back to my room. Or maybe I can find Apollyon backstage or something.
I’m trying to concoct a speech to give to Rath in case I need his help, when I notice Apollyon running along the edge of the ring, snapping his whip, lashing it through the audience. He’s right below me and Hisae now. He doesn’t look directly at me, but the whip arches, slicing through the air like a live thing, and the tip of it cuts neatly through my black-lace tank top, right between my breasts. The lace falls apart, ruined, exposing the fancy red bra underneath. I’m lucky he didn’t cut through that, too.
He runs on, but that little bit of attention from him was exactly what I needed. He knows I’m here. When the show is done, he’ll take care of me.
Hisae’s sponsor appears behind us and murmurs in her ear. She nods and rises. “I’m going back to my room. Will you be all right, Grace?”
“Yes.” I’m still watching Apollyon, my heart tripping into double-time. “I’ll be just fine.”
Hisae leaves with her sponsor. The music shifts into a throbbing, seductive cadence, and Apollyon begins removing his clothes piece by piece—first the hat, which he flings to an audience member—then the fine ringmaster’s tailcoat, then his silky black shirt. Why is my demon love interest stripping in public? I press my hands to my cheeks, trying to quell my burning blush. Oh god, he’s taking off his boots and his pants now. And his underwear. And now he’s nude, a perfectly carved male figure standing in the ring. Only for a second though, because he leaps into the air and transforms into the beautiful cerulean dragon who came into my room that night. The light sparkles through the icy spikes along his back, glows through his blue webbed wings, and glints on the tips of his claws. He flies up to the peak of the tent, flips, and dives, sweeping low over the heads of the audience while they cheer. I suppose even in Hell, a demon who can shift into a dragon is kind of special.
He does another flip and another pass over the crowd—this time he’s gliding toward me, and when I meet that blue reptilian gaze I read an infernal purpose there, a burning volcanic hunger, focused entirely on me—oh fuck—
His claws extend, clamping around my body, and he snatches me right out of my seat. The demons scream their approval. With a powerful beat of his wings he rises high, high above the audience—my breath is gone—I can’t inhale, can’t scream. The blasts of air from his beating wings, the clutch of his claws around my ribs and thighs, the hot hiss of his breath—it’s overwhelming, tearing to shreds any rational thoughts.
